


Uphill

by olivemartini



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Feels, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fluff, end of season 1, hidden moment sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: The words don't come anymore.He reaches for them, groping out into the darkness of his mind, which can still fix a computer but can't remember how to ask someone to get him a glass of water.Jemma helps.





	Uphill

Fitz had almost drowned once before, back when he was little and still believed that the world was a logical place.

He remembered reaching out to grab that one perfect rock that seemed to be just far enough away that he needs to take a step out into the water, and then the ground shifting underneath his feet, sneakers slipping in the mud.  He remembers tumbling head first into the water and how he kept calling, moving down the sharp incline until he realizes that there is no way to reach the ground that is just under his feet without his head going underwater, and the panic makes him freeze, tensing up and sinking down.  He remembers taking great gulps of water into his lungs and how bad it hurt, how the need to breath settled onto his chest like the entire world was placing its weight there, the way it felt like his head was threatening to split open under the pressure and the lack of oxygen.  He remembers looking up through the stream of bubbles and into the sun streaming down through the murky water, wishing he had the energy to make it to the surface, and how just when he thought something really bad was going to happen, a hand reached down to yank him back to the surface.

That had been bad.

This time, it was so much worse.

 

 

He wakes to the sound of beeping, and the feeling of fingers brushing through his hair, the way his mom used to when he was little and sick and wanted to cry but wouldn't.  There was also pain, pain so bad he thought his skull was going to split open and his lungs were going to collapse, but he still turns his head to try and find that person who was trying to help him, who was talking to him in a soft litany of lullabies and reassurances, even if he can't understand them. 

When he does look at them, the image is blurry, like he's looking at them from behind a waterfall.

"It's alright Fitz,"  they say, and he knows the voice, even if he can't think of who it belongs to.  "Everything's going to be okay."

 

 

Except everything wasn't okay, because when he woke up the pain was gone and the girl who talked to him was still there, but he couldn't think of her name.

Which was strange, because he can remember them sitting cross legged on the bed back at the academy and quizzing each other for the upcoming finals.  And he remembers her turning to him one day and saying that they were clearly the top two in the academy at the moment and maybe they should work together, shouldn't we Fitz, it only makes sense, and how he didn't have to worry about being alone after that.  And he remembers when she wanted to go into the field and he followed her because that's just something he does, follows this girl whose name he doesn't know, and he knows that he was willing to jump out of an airplane for her but didn't because Ward got there first, and all kinds of other things that have happened over the years they've known each other.  And he can feel that familiar feeling of _love-safety-comfort-right-she'sherethingsareokaynow_ that he always gets when she's around.

"Fitz."  She's happy to see him, smiling, and he knows that she remembers all those things to and maybe feels the same things that he feels.  Her arms around him, but they are gentle this time, like she thinks that she might break him if she holds on to tightly.  It hurts a bit anyways, because he knows that this thing that went wrong in his head are going to break her.  "Thank god, Fitz."

"I-,"  He means to say that he's glad she's here, that he's okay, something reassuring, because he also knows that he always tries to make this girl feel better every chance he gets.  But that's not what he ends up saying, because another thing he knows is that they don't lie to each other.  "I don't know your name."

 

 

Her name was Jemma.

Jemma Simmons.

He remembers that one day, right when she turns the corner into his makeshift hospital room.  It's the first time that it's came to him automatically, without having to think or having her remind him.  Fitz is relieved, blessedly relieved, and he says it out loud even though it wasn't necessary, trying out the way it feels on his tongue.

"Hello, Jemma Simmons."  He grins, and she stops where she is, a horribly long pause where she is making sure that what she heard was real.   "How are you today?"

She cries, and hugs him, and doesn't seem like she's ever going to stop. 

There's been a lot of crying lately.

 

 

Jemma Simmons is sort of a control freak.

Which is kind of his fault, because he got better and the doctors let him go off on his own, in this nice little apartment that SHIELD was paying for while he recovers.  And it was good for a while, except then he got distracted with the gadgets they gave him to fix and the problems they needed solving ( _which somehow he still has the ability to do, even if he doesn't know the name of things like refrigerator, or, you know, his best friend in the entire world_ ).  And then all the different medicines he was supposed to be taking started staying in their bottles, and the dirty dishes started piling up in the sink, and he maybe forgot to shower for a little bit.

In his defense, those things weren't that important, and wouldn't have been even before the _incident._ Not when he had the chance to make a cloaking device and was given all the tools to do so, thanks to SHIELD's bottomless bank account. 

Jemma didn't really see things that way.

"What are you-why wouldn't you take your meds, Fitz?"  She had started out in a sort of terrified whisper, but her voice was climbing to a volume that made his head ache.  Jemma had caught sight of the unopened bottle of meds that he had left sitting on his counter, the ones that she had brought him two weeks ago and was supposed to be gone by now.  "You need to take your meds in order to get better!  I know you don't like change, but things _have_ changed Fitz, and we need to deal with it.  And that means listening to the doctors."

"God.  God, shut up, Jemma."  He just wants to finish the stupid cloaking device, because somewhere along the line that had become tied with him getting better.  But he can't, because Jemma had taken his screw driver and didn't look like she was going to give it back.  "Just shut up and leave me alone."

She had reeled back like he had hit her, and then swung back towards him, ready to fight.  Fitz thinks maybe it feels good for her to fight with him, because little squabbles between them used to be an every day occurrence.  Not that this fight was about to be a little one, though.  "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I gave myself brain damage just so you could breathe, that's what's fucking wrong with me!"  He thinks that this is the first time he had cursed at her, besides that one time a few of the engineers got drunk and had them say swear words because they liked how they sounded in an accent.  "You do remember that, don't you, Jemma?"

"Yes,"  She looks like she is about to cry again.  "Yes, I do."

 

 

So now he has a live in Jemma, which may have been a bit inconvenient for her but was really amazing for him. 

He's getting better with her here, he knows.  She thinks its because someone is here to make him take his meds on time.  He thinks it's because she does things that no one else thought to do-like labeling all the ordinary items in the house with her beautiful, loopy handwriting, so the words are right there and he never gets frustrated when he searches for them.  Like claiming like her eyes are too tired to keep reading but she really needs to finish this book or article or report, so could he please read it out loud for her, which makes him feel useful and promotes his brain function all at once. 

Or like now, when they're sitting cross legged on the bed with a stack of flashcards between them.  It reminds him of old times, even if old times at the academy meant she quizzed him on the properties of chemicals and they always ended up dreaming about the day when they would get to shake hands with Tony Stark.  Now, his hands fidget with the rubix cube to stall for time and he is reaching out to try and find the word that he knows is right in front of him, groping in the dark to pull away the blindfold that keeps him separated from all the things he should know. 

"It's alright, Fitz."  Jemma has her hand on his knee.  That's a different thing, too, this new found affection of hers.  The hands that find their way onto his leg or his shoulder or brushing against his arm.  He feels like it means something and nothing all at once.  "It's been a long day.  You're just tired."

"Tired.  Yea."  He knows he's not.  He knows he just can't do it, that this isn't somethin that can speed up the process of just by studying late into the night.  "Thank you, Jemma."

 

 

Things were good.

And then they joined up with the team.

The team, who looks at him like he might break at any moment but pretend he's okay because they really need that cloaking device.  The team who needs him to finishes his sentences because they can't fill in the gaps like Jemma can.  The team that brings back reminders of that box under the sea and a man he trusted.  A man that's actually underneath the very floor he's standing on.

Jemma's excited, so he pretends to be excited too, even if he's not.

 

 

"I can't do it!"  Fitz moves him arm and sweeps everything off the table, the equipment hitting the ground with rattles and clangs and a great banging that sends both Jemma and May running towards him, but they either can't think of what to say or just want to give him space to breathe and choose to hang back instead, letting him throw around his work and research like they mean nothing.  "I can't do it, I won't figure it out, I'm broken, don't you get that, that bastard broke me and there's no coming back from that. I can't finish that stupid... that stupid..."

He fights for the words, pounding his fist into the table and biting through his lip, trying to find it.

Jemma fills it in for him, because that's what Jemma does.  Except that she's Simmons now, because that's what he has to call her when they're on the ship.  "The cloaking."

"The cloaking.  Right!"  He laughs, but it is a hysterical kind of laugh, and he turns and picks up a chair before hurling it at the bullet proof glass.

Someone is screaming, and he is crying, and there are a pair of arms pulling him away.  He recognizes them as belonging to the man whose name he can't think of anymore, but he knows that he used to not like him because Jemma did.  She liked him a lot.

"It's okay, Fitz."  This man is whispering, and Fitz relaxes into his arms, lets himself be settled onto the ground, because he knows he just really scared these people he cares about.  "It's all going to be okay."

 

 

Simmons is crying.

Fitz is trying hard not to.

"I'm so sorry."  She keeps saying that, over and over.  It's sort of sad, because under other circumstances this might have been pleasant, seeing as how she's curled up into his side and they're sitting on his bed and it wouldn't take much for him to tilt his head and kiss her.  "I'm so sorry that this happened.  I'm so sorry that you did this for me."

"It's not your fault.  And I don't regret it."  He decides to take his chances and kiss her on the forehead.  She doesn't act like it's a weird thing for him to do, just moves closer, and that's a whole new kind of confusing.  "I'd do it all over again if I had to."

He's telling the truth, and she knows it.

It just makes her cry harder.

 

 

 Fitz knows exactly whose fault it is, and it isn't Simmons'.

"I believed that you were good."  Fitz knew that he wasn't supposed to be down here, and that if he got caught or Ward told, it would make everyone on the ship that much more worried about him.  Simmons might end up as his permanent babysitter on top of everything else she had to do.  But he had to risk it, just for the chance to see him.  He thought it'd make him feel better, to look the monster beneath the floors in the face, just to prove to himself that Ward couldn't hurt him anymore.  "But then you went and tried to kill us."

Ward stares at him, a little shocked.  When Fitz thinks about it, he's not really sure that anyone was giving Ward any intel, so he probably wasn't expecting to see him or Jemma ever again.  If so, he was taking it well.  "I was following orders."

"Following Garret's..."  He blanked, the word disappearing right when he was about to say it.  "Following Garret."

"I owed him." 

"And you didn't owe us?  What about all we'd done for you?  Everything we'd gone through together?  How many times me and Jemma saved your life, and how many times you saved ours, just to kill us in the end?"  It's strange, the way this whole brain damaged brain thing works.  When he really wants to find a certain word, or needs to describe something with a particular phrase, he can't do it.  But in a situation like this, when he's not thinking, just letting himself run wild in a stream of consciousness, the words come out without a hitch.  "And you know something?"  Fitz was not thinking about what he was saying, was not thinking about the cameras that were watching and recording everything.  Not thinking about how surely Colson and Jemma had discovered him missing by now and must be listening.  "I wish you had."

Ward looks concerned now, despite everything.  Fitz wonders if he's making any sense, or if the words only sounded correct in his head.  Jemma said that might start happening if he gets in a rush of things.  "Are you alright, Fitz?"

"No."  He rocked back on his heels, and then smacked his fist into the electrical divider between them.  It sparks, and his hand burns where he made contact.  "No, I'm not, you want to know why?  Because you dropped me into the middle of the bloody ocean, that's why! And I saved Simmons so she tried to save me, and I ended up with brain damage, so I can't even talk without her help, let alone do everything I used to, and you know something, Ward?"  He can hear something beeping and whizzing, probably Sky trying to break in from the other side.  "It would have been better if I had died.,"  Fitz had never hated anyone as much as he hated Ward, hated the trust that he placed in him, hated how he believed in him until the moment he hit that launch button.  "But I can't have that.  So how bout I just kill you instead?"

 

He doesn't kill Ward.

Fitz isn't really sure if he even wanted to, but it didn't matter, because as long as Ward was imprisoned, there was no way for him to get in.

But Ward tries to kill himself that night.  And the night after that.  And the night after that.

 

 

Things have become to hard to say out loud, so Fitz doesn't really talk at all and just lets Jemma be his translator instead.

 _I'm so sorry,_ he thinks, when he's punching the work table even though he's not a guy who punches things, when he throws the container that Jemma needs across the room because he can't find the words to say what he needs to, when he's in a rage and the only thing that can calm him down is Jemma's hands on his shoulder, comforting and restraining all at once.

 _You're making me better.  You're the only thing making me better,_ he wants to say, when Jemma is having him make overly complicated dinners with her in the kitchen or she helps him through simple tasks he should have known, or she discreetly labels everything around the lab. 

 _I don't know what I would do without you,_ he thinks, when he's gone off into one of his sulks after a particularly bad day and she comes to find him, but doesn't say anything, just joins him in his tiny hide out that they don't really fit in and holds his hand until he's ready to go out into the light.

_You're the only reason I'm glad that you saved me._

_I love you._

_Please don't leave me._

 

 

"Fitz."  Jemma's voice is different than normal, a bit higher, like she's pretending that everything's okay but really isn't.  Which is sad, because he had thought that things were going really okay today, since they had the afternoon off and spent it playing some stupid engineering video game.  "Do you remember what you said to me, before you blasted out the window?"

Fitz can tell this is important.  He tries to think, but all he's getting is a pain in his arm and her sleeping beside him, the simultaneous relief and horror that she is here with him, and the wonderful feeling of her finding an idea when he thought there would be nothing to save them.  And how he lied and made a solution that was sure to save him, but not her.  But he can't remember anything than what the others told him he had done.  "No."  Her face falls, and Fitz feels bad, feels awful, and also angry that this is another thing that Ward took from him.  This wonderful thing that he had said that Jemma wanted him to remember.  "I'm sorry.  You know it's all foggy."

"Oh."  Her voice is her fake voice now, the one she uses when she's scared or sad or angry but doesn't want to show it because it might hurt his feelings.  "That's alright, Fitz.  It wasn't important anyways."

 

 

 

She doesn't mention it, but things changed that day.

The little random touches- the hands on his shoulders to hold him back, the hand on his leg to calm him down, the hugs- stop.

Her being around all the time, even when he'd rather she go away, stops.

That feeling that something between them is shifting, that she might feel about him like he feels about her, stops.

It makes him hate Ward a little more, though he doesn't really know how this one could be his fault.

 

 

"I have to leave."  Jemma was saying, and Colson was arguing, and Fitz was pressed up against the wall outside, not moving a muscle and trying not to give in to the panic rising up in him.  "He's using me as a crutch, sir.  With me here, he's never going to get better, not when I'm always there to help him along."

"Are you sure?"  Fitz wonders how many times they've had these meetings, if Jemma has been reporting on him like May used to report on Colson.  It makes him sad.  "I think he's doing better."

"He is, and that's why I have to leave now, so he can be better on his own."  She's begging, pleading, in the way he's only heard her beg when she desperately wanted her hypothesis to be right but had no idea if it would work.  "I can't stand seeing him this way, sir.  Not for much longer."

Colson agrees, and he leaves the room.  When Fitz steps in, and the two of them meet eyes and she realizes instantly that he heard, she doesn't look sorry.

 

 

"You are getting better right?"  Jemma asks, when she's standing on the run way with her bags in hand, preparing to board the plane.  She's going back to the academy, to help President Weaver with the recruiting.  Underground, very discreet recruiting.

_Only with you here.  It'll be a downward slope without someone to work with me.  I never take my meds unless you remind me.  You're my best friend, we've never been apart, it feels bad to start now.  I never wanted Ward dead but he tried to kill himself anyways.  You tried to save me, don't stop when the jobs only half done. I love you, I love you, please, don't leave me._

But he doesn't say all that.  He couldn't say things like that even when his brain hadn't been deprived of oxygen for... however long he had gone without.

"Of course I am."  He wraps her into a hug, buries his face in her hair, and tries not to feel like this is the beginning of his own personal destruction.  "When you come back, I'll be all better."

 

 

He watches the plane take off.

He's not sure when she's coming back.

She never really said.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on Instagram @alwaysscripturient


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